


Kneelers

by Mylifeisaverage



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bad Boys, Basically they're gonna [redacted] until they [redacted] right into the fucking [redacted], Blow Jobs, Catholic Guilt, Exhibitionism, First Time, Gay Sex, Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Overstimulation, Roman Catholicism, gratuitous tags, whatcha gonna do? whatcha gonna do when they come for you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-01 06:23:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17862023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mylifeisaverage/pseuds/Mylifeisaverage
Summary: "Good morning, children! Today we're going to discuss... temptation...?"





	Kneelers

**Author's Note:**

> i just love twinks and toyboys

How did simple footsteps of modest townies always sound so loud in here? The gentle sweeping of dust off of the floors scraped the air and coalesced through the rafters into grand, percussive _schwip schwips._ It almost sounded like a conductor’s baton cutting the wind into perfect measures of four by four, three by three, and so on. Victor was gone. There was no one near that could satisfy this sudden urge to listen to music, to relive the hymns of the day, the way the voices of the town bounced off the walls. Alas, the peace in quiet would have to do. The _schwips_ of the broom in his hand carried their own form of beauty. 

Yuri often stayed behind long after Sunday morning mass. Cleaning the nave and the narthex of Saint Peter’s Church before the children poured in to practice their catechism. He could almost hear their lofty voices making merry or calling out to him. He hid a smile, how he loved the children. He’d never admit it to them, but he cherished each and every smile that greeted him for Sunday school. He knew they preferred it when he lead the lessons. He was very popular among the congregation, known well by every catholic soul in his little town for his faith and budding loveliness. He was a modest, devout young man, the son of a prominent father and a strong mother. He was their pride and joy, a shining jewel they wore on their fingers. His sister, not so much. 

While Yuri hadn’t missed a Sunday since his family had moved to Antioch, Mila couldn’t keep a three week streak. Eventually, their father caved and let her start going on Thursday nights after hockey practice. The church was near the ice rink, she’d have to walk past it to get home. They trusted her to keep her faith on her own time. She was becoming a woman, they needed to afford her her independence. That started last year, when Yuri had just started high school. Before she started seeing _him…_

Not twenty minutes ago, Yuri discovered him kept out of sight in the dark near the crossing on the gospel side of the church. He was a treacherous beast with deep dark, piercing eyes that captured every detail. He preyed on every passerby and everything about him invited them in. His voice rumbled from deep within his chest, smooth, velvety, and endlessly smug. His face was straight and angular, never displayed any expression outside of casual villany. The cut of his cheekbones cast shadows over a jaw that could cut glass. His nose exhaled thick white smoke he inhaled from a hand-rolled cigarette he perched between his lips. His skin was always tanned, his hair was thick and as dark as his eyes, as dark as the leather he always wore over his shoulders. He smelled of smoke, motor oil, cloves, and oranges. And no matter where Yuri was, he always lurked in the shadows. 

“Where’s your sister?” he’d said, cornering Yuri as he took up the broom. He was bigger than Yuri, but that didn’t say much. He didn’t need to be big. He felt big. 

“I don’t know.” Yuri had kept his eyes down. 

“Tell her I’m looking for her,” he’d ordered with a casual wave of his hand. And just when it looked like Yuri would be set free, he opened his stupid mouth. 

“Why?” he’d questioned defiantly. As if the warm gaze of his guardian angels had turned away, Yuri felt a shiver of cold. He had stood toe to toe with him and squared his shoulders. Yuri shrank like a violet. “Didn’t you break up?” he’d blurted. 

Yuri thought himself a sheep trapped in a fence, a little lamb with a broken leg as he felt the breath of his death hotly gust over his face and neck. It made him shiver. 

“Keeping tabs on me?” he’d asked simply, almost as if he’d expected an answer. 

Yuri swallowed and shook his head, staring at the stone floor with the broom in hand. Even though he tried to believe in himself, believe that he wasn’t terrified, Yuri knew that he could snap this broom in the palm of his hand if he wanted to. He could snap Yuri’s neck if he wanted to. 

“Tell her I’m looking for her,” he purred lowly and Yuri shivered. Yuri squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t open them until the echo of his footsteps dissipated and Yuri was left alone. 

Yuri wracked his brain but could never find an answer to the question: _What did she see in a guy like him?_ Mila was a headstrong young woman. She would never let Mom or Dad boss her around, nevermind some guy. Nevermind a guy like _him._ Yuri just didn’t understand. What was there to gain? Why would she spend so much time with such an undesirable vagrant? Why did Yuri feel so burdened with worry? 

The tinkling of laughter cacophonized outside in the lazy late summer morning. The children were making their way in. Yuri perked up at the sound. He finished up his sweeping and dumped the debris into the trash can in the lobby. Maybe he’d tell them stories in the garden today. All he needed was permission from Father Harris, easily procured. Setting the broom aside, Yuri made his way up the aisle to visit the sacristy, where the good priest was likely dawdling after changing out of his vestments. He detected a faint squabbling over the tap of his heels against the stone. 

“Father Harris, are you back there?” 

Something was kicking up quite the fuss behind the tabernacle. Yuri’s face fell concernedly. The closer he came the quieter it was. 

“Father Harris?” Yuri called out, “is everything alright?” Silence. “I’d like to speak with you if that’s alright. Is this a bad time?” 

Ascending the steps towards the altar, Yuri cautiously approached the tabernacle and reverently bowed his head. An intricate carving of Jesus Christ hung on a cross over the altar, his face twisted in anguish. Easter had came and went. Yuri wished he didn’t have to look so sad during ordinary time, but that was the plight of the Son. He was born to bare this pain so Yuri didn’t have to. And for that, Yuri was endlessly grateful. This man who lived thousands of years ago faced the world’s hardest decisions. He wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t always right. He was afraid to die, even if it was for the best. They hurt him. They spurned him. They hung him out to dry. But everything turned out okay in the end. 

The children hated Judas. He was the supervillain of Christ’s heroic tale. The enemy. The scoundrel. The monster in their closets. At this age, to teach them that loyalty was a virtue, Yuri inclined to let them believe this, even if what they believed wasn’t the full story. They forgot that Judas was, above all else, Jesus’ friend. He loved and believed in him, as did all the other apostles. It was Thomas that doubted him. No, Judas wasn’t evil. The crucifixion wasn’t an accident, but an event meticulously planned by God. Judas’ role was set for him by the Lord himself, doomed to play the traitor in a story that would live on for millennia. This man who lived thousands of years ago faced the world’s hardest decisions. He wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t right. He was afraid to live, he couldn’t live with himself after what he’d done to his own friend, even if it was for the best. They rewarded him. They paid him handsomely for his betrayal. He died by his own hand to force his own punishment for a sin he’d been designed to commit. And at the cost of his reputation, Christ’s message flourished. And everything turned out okay in the end. 

“I think he’s gone…” 

Voices whispered just behind the tabernacle and Yuri was so deep in thought that he widened his eyes like it just might’ve been Jesus talking down to him. He was speechless, standing totally still. There was a rustling noise and a frustrated grunt. 

“I thought told you not to wear tights.” 

“I didn’t, I wore stockings.” 

“Hello?” Yuri spoke up. He couldn’t discern exactly who it was but it didn’t sound like Father Harris at all. It didn’t sound like Victor or Anya either. When the voices didn’t reply, Yuri slowly turned over his shoulder, keeping his eyes trained on the tabernacle, and retreated into the sacristy. 

“Fuck.” 

“Kiss me, Otabek.” 

Smooshed up into the corner of the back wall, Mila wound her long legs around Otabek’s waist. Her left shoe slipped off and rattled to the ground. She never wore her church shoes if she didn’t have to, nevermind nylon stockings. There wasn’t enough grip to keep them on her feet. 

Rude hands hiked her dress up past her hips. It was her mother’s and so were the stockings she wore underneath it. Attached to an ivory garter belt, they reached up to the middle of her thighs where thick muscle contracted under her skin. She was breathless. Elongating her neck, she rested the back of her head against the wall and blew wily red hair out of her eyes. Her cheeks were stained pink, it made Otabek see red. 

“You want it, baby?” he hummed in her ear. He fed his hands up underneath her dress, feeling up her sides and squeezing her legs. She wordlessly nodded her head. He egged her on anyway. She was nervous, he could tell. “Come on, Mila, I know you missed me. Say it.” 

“I missed you,” she parroted softly, “I’m–” She took a breath. “I’m ready now.” 

_“Really…”_

She shivered and hesitated. Her palms scrubbed the back of his neck and down over his shoulders. She chanced a look into his eyes and her heart jumped into her throat. 

“Let’s see what you’re made of, church girl. Take it out.” 

His voice reverberated through her head. His breath on her skin raised goosebumps all over her neck. Entranced by him, she swept her hands over his chest and deft fingers pulled at the worn leather of his belt. He huffed a near silent puff of triumphant laughter. 

“Hh!” 

“MILA?!” 

Hiding behind the door to the sacristy, Yuri watched Otabek dismount his sister with abject mortification. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Otabek grumbled under his breath. Mila closed her legs, smoothing out her hair and yanking her dress back over her knees as she hurried to cover herself. Yuri gasped. He covered his mouth like an affronted old lady and thanked his lucky stars that they were behind the tabernacle and not in front of it, where Jesus himself would be forced to watch. 

“Shit… Yura? Baby, we were just–” 

“You’re _not_ supposed to be here,” he barked. He pointed an undiplomatic finger at Otabek’s face. 

He rolled his eyes, “whatever. I’m out of here.” 

He abandoned Mila without a second glance. He passed Yuri in the doorway to the sacristy and roughly bumped his shoulder on the way out. The back garden was only a few steps further. Otabek made a point to light up his next cigarette before he got there. 

“Call me!” Mila chimed after him hopefully. 

Yuri clutched his breaking heart as he timidly stepped out into the light. She looked so _pretty._

Mila was an athlete. She was tall and strong. When she walked, her heels hit the ground with confidence that the earth beneath her would meet her halfway. When she laughed her abs clenched and her eyes rolled back. She was unladylike, rough around the edges.  
He often found her in baggy shirts she’d found at Goodwill, beat up sneakers, or a black one piece swimsuit. She was a better brother than she was a sister. 

She was afraid to wear her own femininity most times. Her face was pretty, soft and flushed with life and cheeriness. She had a few rows of gold freckles across the bridge of her nose, blue eyes, and peachy pink lips she always glossed with cheap chapstick she likely stole. Yuri thought she was beautiful, but most of the boys her age found that she lacked the grace that most other girls had. Of course, the way they’d put it to him was much less kind. They were threatened by her, and she was lonely because of it. 

Today, she’d gone and borrowed their mother’s favorite afternoon dress, not knowing that there even was such a thing. It was soft, speckled in roses and lilies, and flared gently just below her knees. Her wavy hair was left loose, covering the undercut she’d shaved into the bottom without permission. She looked stunning, so beautiful. Even when her mascara streaked down her cheek. 

“You spoiled _everything!_ ” she spitefully hissed. 

“Spoiled what?” Yuri questioned before he could think better of it. 

She scoffed. “What do you think?” 

She roughed up her eyes, smearing her makeup on the back of her hand. She ruffled up her hair and kicked off her other shoe. Yuri’s shoulders crept up as he awkwardly watched her pull off her stockings, ball them up, and shove them into the dainty pockets on the front of her dress. Yuri backed off and let her breathe. He knew she was more embarrassed than angry. She had a worried, helpless look in her eyes. His feet were cemented to the floor. 

“Yuri,” she softened, “Yuri, you’re my little brother… You’re my best friend, right? We tell each other everything?” She advanced with her hands up in surrender. “And no matter what we have each other’s backs?”

He could already feel the sweat collecting around his hairline. His throat was already closing. 

“Please,” he pleaded thinly, “don’t make me.” 

“You can’t–”

“I didn’t mean to, it was an accident–” 

“Under any circumstances–”

“No!” He tried to cover his ears but his hands were plastered to his sides. 

“–tell Mom and Dad.” 

The spell was cast and it’s power flowed through him, sealing his lips and leaving him limp and reeling. He doubled over and moaned like he’d been punched in the stomach. He too was cursed with unwanted knowledge, fate put into his hands. He understood why Christ’s statue was always in agony. Yuri hated to lie. He hated it. And he was an awful liar. 

“Promise me,” Mila begged. He could hear the panic in her voice. When he didn’t reply right away, she was on him. “Yuri, if you tell them I’ll hit you so hard it’ll give you war flashbacks.” She had his collar in a crazy grip. Pinned against the threshold, his feet dangled off the ground. “I swear to _God_ , Yuri. Don’t you dare tell them.” 

Yuri bristled. She took the Lord’s name in vain. A commandment was broken. 

“Sorry,” she whispered despite her anger and apparent fear. “I’m sorry.” 

“What were you even doing?” Yuri opened his big mouth again. “With him? _Here?_ ” She tried not to breathe fire right into his face. Still, he braced for the hit. 

“It’s none of your business.” 

“But–” 

“ _I_ broke up with _him_ , okay? It was my decision and I changed my mind.” 

“Why?” 

“Because!” She was starting to overheat. 

In the distance, the neighborhood children wandered into the church looking for Yuri. Parents hovered near the doors, waiting to hand off their sons and daughters to the one who would supervise them while they went about their Sunday morning errands. Mila heard them before Yuri did. His heart was roaring in his ears. She pressed him into the threshold, letting the wood dig hard into his spine. He whined uncomfortably. 

“Promise me you won’t tell them what you saw here.” Even her voice trembled. Yuri squirmed in her grasp but he understood her fear. He was breaking. “They won’t even ask, Yura. Omission isn’t lying. I’m not asking you to lie. Just… _please_ , don’t rat me out.” 

“Okay okay,” he coughed, “...omission isn’t lying.”

With a sigh, she let him down. Yuri flailed for a half second before his coltish legs steadied beneath him. He smoothed out his collar and shook off the urge to panic. He was safe from Mila’s wrath for now. If anything, she looked sad. 

“Do you think he’s gone?” 

Yuri’s expression soured, showing plainly on his face what he thought in his head. Try as he might, he couldn’t train himself not to give away his emotions. His heart was sewn to his sleeve. 

“No,” he guessed grumpily, “we would’ve heard that _thing_ thunder away.” 

Mila’s lips turned up and her cheeks flushed. Yuri was right. Only, she loved rev of Otabek’s motorcycle. They would’ve noticed if he peeled out of the church parking lot. The Rabbit was a particularly loud bike, edging on _death trap._ He was probably glaring at passersby. 

She skipped forward and kissed her brother on the cheek, having to bend almost in half to level with him. He resisted but Yuri never stood a chance against her. He always gave in and let her smoosh his cheeks or pinch them until they were pink. 

“Thanks, Yura.” 

“Stop.” She rolled her eyes. 

“If it bothers you so much, go confess,” she suggested sarcastically, “the grave sin of doing your sister a favor.” 

“ _Enabling_ my sister to make bad decisions,” Yuri clarified. 

She shrugged her shoulders. With a flourish of pink and ivory, she spun and left in the direction of the sacristy. 

“See you at home.” 

Yuri nodded his goodbye and when she was gone, he pouted alone behind the tabernacle for a second longer. He almost caught his death as the Rabbit’s engine roared to life outside. Such a cutting, abhorrent sound had _no_ business erupting like that outside of a church. This was a calm, peaceful place. Where people could be calm. And peaceful. Yuri shook his head. The children awaited him, he would have to put these thoughts away for now. 

“Today,” Yuri began his lesson in the rose garden next to the church house, “we’re going to talk about…” He opened up the lesson plan Father Harris had laid out for him and his stomach dropped to the floor. “Temptation.” 

_You’ve got to be kidding me._

No. This is a good thing. Perhaps Yuri needed a refresher. If he could put it into words, he could help others resist. He was a teacher, a role model. 

“Can anybody tell me what _Temptation_ means?” he began and tried to hide the evidence of his lingering glumness. A sweet young girl with mousy brown hair waved her hand in the air. “Claire?” 

“It means when someone tries to tell us to do something bad!” 

“Very good,” he praised and the little girl beamed brightly. 

“And it’s a sin!” 

“Oh no no,” Yuri reeled in her excitement, “giving into temptation is a sin, but everybody faces it. It’s the oldest and most common form of test. Greta?” Poor thing was so shy, Greta hid behind her hands. “What sort of temptations do you face?” Yuri asked her. His practiced patience helped her open up. He was safe and warm to her. 

“Sometimes, my Mommy bakes cookies and…” a boy sitting across from her in the circle ooh’d. Yuri made a face at him and urged her to continue. “Sometimes, I want to take one without asking. But I never do! I–” 

“Hey hey,” Yuri set her at ease, “you’re a good girl, Greta. It’s okay to feel these things as long as you don’t give in to…” He waited for her to finish his sentence.

“Temptation?” 

“See? You’re getting it.” She hid a smile. “Now,” he spoke to the group, “enduring temptation makes us stronger, right? The more we do it, the easier it gets. Greta sees the cookies, she knows right away that she shouldn’t take them, and she doesn’t. Every time. It’s easy!” 

“But why would God make cookies if we can’t gave them?” Samuel, an ornery lad commented. He was pulling up the grass. 

“Greta’s Mommy made the cookies,” Yuri corrected, “and God didn’t put them there to trick you. Because God is always rooting for you, cheering for you to succeed. But, you know who did make you want to take the cookies?” Greta’s eyes went as wide as the moon. 

“The Devil?” another girl answered for her. 

“Exactly.” Yuri snapped his fingers and Greta nearly jumped out of her skin. “What are some ways we can resist temptation?” The children looked all around the circle at their neighbors but the group came up with nothing. Twelve pairs of eyes all peered in Yuri’s direction. “No one?” A few heads shook. That won’t do at all. “Michael, say the first thing that comes to mind.” 

“Uh…” Michael barely tried. “Learning,” he threw out. 

“Lovely,” Yuri affirmed with a smile that fell as soon as it formed.

“ _Lovely,_ you sound like Victor.” 

“I do not.” Yuri pouted, only a few degrees more dramatic than was already instinctual. A couple kids on the far end of the circle giggled. “ _Yes,_ Michael. Knowledge is power. If we know what we’re up against, we can outsmart even the Devil himself. Anyone else?” 

“ _Pwayer?_ ” Another little boy still fumbled with his _R_ sounds. 

“Very good, Jacob, you’ve been paying attention. The word of God will always protect us. Everything we need is in our minds, hearts, and this one simple book. And there’s one more, who can guess? It’s easier than you think…” 

“Going to church every Sunday?” Claire guessed boldly. 

“Always good, but no…” 

“Holy water?” 

“Nope.” 

Claire gave up with a huff. Greta perked up in her spot. 

“Telling people not to do bad things?” she twittered timidly. 

“That’s absolutely right, Greta!” Nothing filled Yuri with more satisfaction than seeing the shine of success fill the eyes of his children. Greta swelled with his praise. “Teamwork,” he explained, “is _so_ important. Loving each other is so important. Greta’s Mommy helps her every day. Greta loves her Mommy so she won’t take the cookie. Because Mommy would be sad, right? Your Mommy’s love protects you from temptation. Jesus has been through everything we’ve been through. If he could do it, we can.” 

“He died.” Samuel killed the vibe with a harsh yank of another handful of grass. 

“To deliver us from sin.” Most everyone had a look or two to throw in Samuel’s direction but they let him be. Some children just had mean spirits. “Jesus made a sacrifice because he loves each and every one of us. His love was so powerful that it takes away our original sin right at birth. So we can be judged for our own actions, not the actions of those before is. It may seem scary, trying to resist temptation, but it does get easier. God always provides the tools and opportunities for us to maintain our virtues.”

He watched as this new concept slowly took hold in their little minds. The children understood that temptation was normal and not something to be afraid or ashamed of. Once their insecurities were identified, each child could find solutions to their inner turmoils as they grew. Whichever problems were too big to solve on their own, they could ask a friend for help. He’d teach them to do so another time. Asking for help was a concept he himself wasn’t such an expert on. 

“Yuri, are you ever in temptation?” Claire asked curiously. 

“No,” Greta answered before Yuri could open his mouth, “he’s perfect. You’re the nicest, awesomest, coolest, nicest person _ever forever._ ” She squeezed her arms around his middle, half crawling into his lap. 

“Aw,” he couldn’t help but gush just the slightest bit, “Greta, that’s really kind of you, sweet girl. But I’m not perfect.” She didn’t seem to believe him. “I’ll tell you all a secret,” he said, “This morning when my alarm went off. My bed was so warm and cozy I almost didn’t leave it.” 

“You didn’t come to church?!” Jacob all but screamed. 

“Of course I did! I was tempted to stay in bed, but that would mean shirking my responsibilities. I would never abandon you.” 

“Our love is too strong!” Claire chimed. 

And though Pride in excess was a grave sin, Yuri was proud of his children. 

“That’s it for today!” 

“Bye Yuri!” 

He waved and waved until the last little hands faded from view as he sped away on his bike. The sky was blue, the sun shined brilliantly through the leaves of the trees, and the birds chirped merrily as Yuri made his way home. He wove through residential streets and greeted all of his neighbors by name while they mowed their lawns, went for the paper, or picked up after their dogs. 

Antioch was a tiny suburb where everybody knew each other, everyone got along, and everyone was Catholic. Publicly at least. Like any other midwestern drive through town, it experienced a plethora of problems in dealing with the youth. It was too cramped with not enough to do. Some teenagers settled for tagging abandoned farm houses, others were dedicated delinquents. There was a drug problem, a pregnancy problem, an undeniable issue with wasting potential. Most kids worked their hands to the bone aspiring to escape Antioch forever. Most kids were doomed to become yet another smiling face mowing the lawn. 

Yuri coasted down the street to where the houses grew more and more distant. The road dead ended into a perfectly round cul de sac with all the houses on the North side having access to the lake. There was a whole chain of them all connected together, leading to other towns. Most families invested in little boats or jet skis to take out onto the water. The more well off families had yacht parties and decks with twinkly lights. 

Stopping in front of a modest, ivy covered cottage, Yuri almost tripped as he shoved his kickstand down. It was sticking pretty badly but he didn’t know how to fix it. He frowned at a new scuff on the heel of his church shoes and wandered up the driveway and into the house. 

“I’m home!” he called out. From the mudroom, he could hear something sizzling in the kitchen. 

“How was your morning?” 

Elegantly posed at the stove with a spatula in her hand, Yuri’s mother greeted him without so much as looking up. Though she usually slicked it up in a pristine bun, her hair hung cleanly about her shoulders in a single long braid. She wore an apron over her dress. She rolled her ankles and pointed her toes as she cooked. Over her shoulder, Yuri’s father harrumphed from behind the Sunday paper. Steam unfurled lazily from his mug. He wasn’t much for verbal affirmations of affection. Neither of Yuri’s parents were. 

“It was…” Yuri searched for the right word, “Fine.” 

“Fine?” She raised a brow. “Just fine?” 

A red flag pitched itself nice and tall. 

“Good, I meant,” Yuri quickly amended, “it was good. What’s for breakfast?” He peered over his nose into the skillet. Eggs, overeasy, just the way her husband liked them. “Can I have some?” His gaze raked up from the skillet to his mother’s face and froze there in searing eye contact. Her green eyes were narrowed in suspicion. 

“You didn’t eat before you left?” she questioned. High cheekbones made her face look thin and villainous, especially when she was in a mood. She rarely softened. 

“Oh, uh…” His cheeks colored. “I overslept, I had to leave or I would’ve been late.” 

“A growing boy needs rest,” his father grunted and turned a page, “give him one of mine, Lilia.” 

“You need two.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Yakov, your medicine.” She rolled her eyes. “What are we going to do with him?” she joked to her son. “I will make you breakfast,” she conceded, “I’m glad you made it to church early. You know Father Harris needs more help than he thinks.” 

“Thank you.” Yuri nodded his head, bowing before the matriarch of the house. They weren’t a very cuddly family, but their bond was strong. Yuri feared and fiercely loved his parents in equal measure. Their opinion was held to the highest regard, their word was absolute, and their praise was the sweetest reward. 

“Where’s your sister?” 

“Uh,” Yuri choked. “Nowhere…? I don’t know.” 

“Hm.” Lilia slowly turned her attention to her skillet. That’s when Yuri felt himself become the eggs. “She went to church this morning. Didn’t you see her?” 

“No.”

“No?” 

Yuri’s stomach churned and hot bile bubbled up the back of his throat. He swallowed thickly. 

“She was there, I was just busy with the prayer cards,” he amended weakly. 

“Where is she now?” 

He could feel her eyes on him like a physical caress. 

“I don’t know...” he all but whispered to the floor. 

“My Yura,” she hummed, “you can’t keep secrets from me,” she kissed the top of his head, “but I admire your loyalty.” 

He shook her off. His skin felt clammy, it itched and crawled. He was dying to get out of it. Relief felt like betrayal. He didn’t lie, he didn’t tell, but he didn’t omit either. He gave her just enough information for her to guess, and thus, he was taken off his mother’s hook and plunged down onto Mila’s. He didn’t even have a will, who would he leave his bike to? Now he felt worse, he didn’t even have anything to leave. He’d be forgotten the minute Mila beat him to a pulp for giving away her secret. She was with _him._ Otabek. 

“I have homework to do,” he excused himself grimly, “bye–” 

“Yura.” 

He flinched, stopping just before the stairs. Lilia faced the stove, turning off the burner with a graceful flourish. His breakfast was in her other hand. 

One five-page essay, four math worksheets, two needlessly tedious online activities, and one chapter of _Candide_ in the original French later, Yuri still felt anxious and nauseated. Mila still wasn’t home and the sun was beginning to set. He’d skipped lunch for fear of vomiting in the middle of an important assignment and now he couldn’t tell if hunger or worry was making him sicker. He could take a quick nap before dinner, his homework had been done for at least an hour, but what if _he_ showed up in his dreams? 

The other kids at school didn’t seem particularly _afraid_ of Otabek. He was actually quite popular. It was that no one questioned him that Yuri thought was a little odd. No one was above constructive criticism except Otabek. Even his friends were targets of light reproval from time to time but nobody ever had a bad word to say about Otabek. He was like a lingering disease, terminal and lived with despite the symptoms and side effects. He had so much power. Yuri had never seen anyone with that much control over their own perception before. He didn’t even think Otabek would care if the world hated him. They certainly don’t celebrate him. He was just… there. Always there. 

Yuri actively avoided delving into how the other kids perceived him. They didn’t. While his classmates clustered up based on things like interests, teachers, age, and sex, Yuri kept his head down. He didn’t look at anyone, he didn’t talk to anyone, and the general population ignored him right back. He wasn’t very fashionable, didn’t have any controversial opinions, didn’t play any sports. There was no avenue to go down that lead to more interactions. Even for class projects that required groups he somehow ended up alone. Mila came to him late last year with the only rumor that was ever spread about him, that he was a ghost. 

His sister was always talked about wherever they were. They took most of the same classes, with Yuri being one of the only AP level students in his year. He was stuck in a boys only gym class, coed being a special privilege for upperclassmen, and an Honors Enriched Statistics class. Math didn’t come to him as easily, but he worked his hands to the bone to maintain his perfect grades. He never missed a step and never would. Failure would crush him. Mila, however, coasted through life unbothered and uninspired. 

Mila was effortlessly cool. Average grades, captain of the girls hockey team, talked about, envied, hated, loved, dated, and never dumped. Yuri watched her as she laughed and carried on with her friends, everyone did, but he never understood how or why she’d been placed on the pedestal she modestly enjoyed. What made her so likeable? She was crass, argumentative, judgemental, and mean. She was fierce and loyal above anything else. 

He just didn’t understand the social politics of high school, so he actively avoided delving into it. 

There was one person he could go to in times like this, where he found himself locked away in his bedroom, struggling to alleviate crushing guilt or fear or confusion that he couldn’t go to his family about. He and Mila were close, very close, but she couldn’t solve every problem for him. Sometimes she _was_ the problem, like today. 

Dinner wouldn’t be served for another hour at least, and was almost entirely contingent on Mila’s presence. Food was always prepared for their father, but if the whole family wasn’t home dinner wasn’t served. This rule was instituted to encourage the children to either announce their impending absence in advance or be home before seven. If not, everyone suffers. This was never a problem until recently, when Mila started lollygagging with Otabek, and Yuri had started assuming he’d have to find his own food. 

He plopped his book down and rolled out of bed. 

“Mom?” he called out from the top of the stairs, “can I go across the street for a little?”

She gave her blessing with a gentle warning. “Be home by seven.” 

He pulled on a pair of beat up sneakers. Having changed out of his church clothes pretty quickly after he’d gotten home, he stared at himself in the mudroom mirror. It was baking hot outside, humid as could be. His knees poked out a little too much under the hem of his shorts. He wasn’t weak by any means. He was raised a dancer by his former principal ballerina mother and trained vigerously with her on Saturdays. She’d wanted him to train every day but he needed to focus on school. They looked at dance academies but the best and nearest one was all the way in Twin Lakes and he wasn’t too keen on other kids knowing he preferred such a girly form of exercise. No, he wasn’t weak, but prepubescent and awkwardly proportioned. Too short, too thin, hair too long or not long enough. If he looked too long it would start to affect him even if he knew these flaws would pass soon enough. Hopefully.

Across the street lived Yuri’s secret favorite. He would _never ever_ admit it to him, but Victor was Yuri’s best friend. Victor was still young, _down with the kids_ as he liked to call it. He was the cantor at the church. When he wasn’t working, doing God knows what, he was singing and dancing every second he could. Victor was one of those obnoxiously happy types, content with whatever may be and rolled with the punches. He played the piano and tended a beautiful garden. He owned a large brown poodle named Makkachin, every ounce as cheerful as Victor was. He lived alone but always left his front door unlocked should anyone care to stop by and visit. 

Yuri wandered across the street. The closer he came in his approach the more hardy laughter he heard spilling from the open windows of Victor’s little house. As usual, the door was wide open. Yuri slipped off his shoes out of courtesy on the porch, then padded down the hall. 

“Oh _Wow!_ ” 

That unmistakable voice echoed from the back patio, along with another voice laughing quietly. Yuri frowned and hoped his ears deceived him. He really needed his friend and wasn’t willing to share. 

“And this? What’s this to you?” 

“Uh… Oh!” 

Makkachin woofed tiredly from the lap of a perfect stranger. 

There were not one, not two, but three champagne bottles strewn about the patio. One flute was forgotten on a side table with an inch of bubbles going flat at the bottom of the glass. The other was tipped and tumbled by a disheveled, bespectacled, drunken foreigner. He was… plain. Dark hair, dark eyes. They were made simultaneously too big and too small by thick glasses that distorted his face. He’d had some trouble taking his tie off. It was looped around his head before he gave up on it. He and Yuri locked eyes before Victor even noticed a second guest. 

“Victor, there’s–” 

“Who are you?” It sounded like an accusation. He hadn’t meant it that way but he couldn’t find the strength to take it back. There wasn’t a single person in town Yuri hadn’t seen at least once. 

“Yuri,” Victor half greeted, “this is… Oh, that’s funny! This is _Yuuri!_ One, two! That’s cute! Yuuri’s staying with me for a while for a conference. He’s from _Japan–_ ” 

“This seems like a bad time.” 

“No, wait!” 

Yuri turned to hide his mortification, fleeing into the house just past the sliding doors. His head felt so heavy. His chest was tight. He was filled to the brim with all the things he couldn’t say or do, all the conflicts and dichotomies he couldn’t untether himself, and of _all_ days, Victor seemed to be otherwise engaged. For an indeterminate amount of time. If he was honest with himself, Yuri’s never seen Victor in a state of compromise such as this. He didn’t even know he liked a drink, though this guest, _Yuuri_ , seemed to like it a little too much. 

A pair of hands came to rest on his shoulders. “Yura–” 

“Don’t call me that,” Yuri snapped grumpily, “who is _he?_ ” He hugged himself tight, arms crossed. Victor sighed, endlessly patient. 

“My newest friend,” he explained, “come meet him, sit with us, have some champagne–” 

“I’m fifteen.” 

A look of puzzlement helped the mist clear from his vision. Victor gave Yuri the space to retreat further into the house and out of the counterfeit’s earshot. He didn’t seem to notice, singing quietly to himself in some unidentifiable language. 

“Is something wrong?” 

“No…” Yuri weakly deflected. Victor shook his head and went in for a smothering hug. “N– _Stop!_ Get off of me!” Putting up quite the fuss, Yuri struggled out of Victor’s arms and stumbled backwards into the kitchen. “ _Today?!_ You had to do this today?!” 

That was enough to startle Victor’s new friend, who waddled into the house to investigate. He wasn’t particularly overweight but he carried himself like he used to be. An average to sporty build with the confidence of a chess player at homecoming. Yuri definitely had some of his sister’s temper. No one knew where _she_ had gotten it from, neither of their parents were terribly bombastic. But the little sibling always projected his gripes onto other people, usually Victor, and felt guilty immediately after. Now there was a new and low stakes opponent who he’d likely never see again. 

“Why would I want to stay here and watch you canoodle with _that?_ ” Yuri glared and turned his nose up. “First dogs, now _pigs?_ ” Yuuri exclaimed gloomily, readjusting his glasses. “Yeah, you,” Yuri hissed through his teeth, “I was here _first._ ” 

“Oh. I see–” 

“No, you don’t,” Yuri interrupted, “and I’m going home. I had something to ask but I figured it out myself. Besides, you’re too dumb to have an answer anyway.” 

Yuri pouted like a small child denied ice cream and stomped up the hallway to the front door. He hated surprises. He thought he’d have the chance to let it all out and deliberately shook the bottle. He plagued himself with his own guilt and morbid curiosity in hopes that he’d be able to vent it all away by nightfall, but now he can’t. It’s impolite to complain in front of strangers, especially about other people. Yuri bursted at the seems. If his shoes wouldn’t just get on his feet, he’d rip right down the middle. 

“Hey,” Victor jogged up the hallway in pursuit, “come back after dinner, okay? Let’s talk this out.” Yuri grumbled, now sat childishly on the floor and picking at a knot in his shoelace. “No hard feelings either. I doubt he’ll remember this conversation and he will know you as the sweet angel you really are.” 

He hated that that was exactly what he needed to hear. Yuri wished he was mean enough to be rude to someone and not care. In truth, he was starting to feel guilty about his harshness on top of everything else. But he would never admit it to Victor. 

“Stupid dumb,” he huffed. “...Victor, I–” he cut himself off and looked over his shoulder. Victor sat on his heels beside him and listened quietly. Yuri sighed. “I’ve been to confession _four times_ in the last three weeks.” Victor grimaced. 

“What?” he questioned, “why?–” 

_VROOM!_

“Hh!” 

“Oh wow…” 

Before he knew what he was doing, Yuri’s legs carried him out the door, down through the garden, and out onto the street. 

“Hey!” he shouted, and drew the eyes of the very devil that ruined his life. 

The Rabbit purred in the driveway. He didn’t even bother to turn off the ignition or offer Mila a proper goodbye. She stared at her brother like a deer in headlights. After a beat of uncomfortable quiet, she wordlessly scurried into the house. Yuri was alone, bravely staring down the barrel of Otabek’s gaze. 

“You can’t keep doing this,” Yuri drew a line in the sand. “It’s driving me crazy, you’re getting me into trouble.” Otabek merely raised a brow, making a mockery of the very concept of listening to what Yuri had to say. “You’re making me lie! I hate lying! It’s a sin!” Otabek offered an indifferent shrug and eyed his bike. “It’s wrong!” Yuri insisted urgently. Otabek groaned boredly, but he waited for Yuri to finish. “Just let her go,” he concluded, “she deserves a proper boyfriend.” 

Otabek exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to laughter as anyone had ever heard from him. 

“What could you possibly know?” 

He was in motion, treading heavily as he mozied back over towards his motorcycle that rumbled with anticipation. He was getting away with the last word. 

“You can’t, okay?!” Yuri blurted out. “You’re… You’re bad for her!” Otabek froze midstep. A shiver ran down Yuri’s spine, but if he was stupid enough to pick this fight he had to finish it. He stood his ground. “Don’t you know? God sees everything.” 

“And?” 

Yuri didn’t know what to say to that. He found himself gawping soundlessly. _And?_ What did he mean, _and?_ That was always intimidating enough on its own, at least with the children. Now it seemed wise to let Otabek go this time, then Yuri could regroup and switch tactics and–

“You think I’m going to hell, Yuri?” Otabek appeared right up in Yuri’s face. He knew his name? Yuri tripped and barely caught himself. “You think my soul is damned and I’m gonna drag your sister down with me, kicking and screaming. Is that it? Sounds like your God is pretty brutal.”

“No!” Yuri blindly protested. “You have to change. You have to want to change.”

“Ten Hail Marys, ten Our Fathers, walk and old lady across the street.”

“More than that.” 

“Oh?” 

“You have to confess, then God will show you the way.” 

Yuri swallowed his heart. How did nothing affect this guy? Otabek stared into Yuri’s eyes like he could see what he was thinking. Yuri tried to keep perfectly still, applying what he knew about large predators to real life. If he didn’t move, maybe Otabek didn’t see him. But of course he saw him, he saw _into_ him.

“You’ve never touched a girl, have you.” 

Yuri blinked, speechless and stunned. 

“You’ve never noticed how they move, how they speak… gentle enough to walk on water without disturbing it. You’ve never seen their cheeks turn pink at the sight of you. You don’t know what it’s like to go about your life and everywhere you look, girls are going out of their way to see you, touch you, talk to you, be seen _by_ you. You’ve never felt their softness, the way they just... _melt in your mouth._ ” 

Suddenly, Otabek jerked forward and startled Yuri so much that he lost his footing and hit the pavement. The impact knocked the wind from his chest. He sat dizzily in the dirt. Completely devoid of expression, Otabek knelt beside him, effectively canceling out the lingering sunlight with the expanse of his shoulders. Yuri panted to regain his breath. He was a little field mouse being charmed by a snake. 

“Y’know, I really gotta give credit where it’s due. Some of these girls will give anything for a little attention.” 

Yuri was completely motionless, staring at the sky and praying to God that Otabek wasn’t a vampire or something worse because he could feel hot breath passing his ear and prickling the fluffy little hairs at the nape of his neck. 

“That’s why you’re so hung up on all this God shit,” Otabek’s voice peeled through Yuri’s entire body, “you’re dying to worship something, but you’re too afraid.” 

It was like his skull was filled with bees and tv static. 

“Have a nice day, Yuri.”

Otabek rose to his feet with ease. 

Left reeling on the pavement, Yuri could only watch slack jawed while Otabek remounted his bike and revved the engine. Yuri nearly jumped right out of his skin, hastily tucking his legs in close to his body when Otabek passed him, running a half circle around a tiny defenseless human before taking off down the street. 

Silent through dinner, Yuri thought long and hard about what Otabek had said, the most they’ve ever spoken to each other. His parents paid him no mind, choosing to interrogate Mila while they had her attention. Yuri excused himself on account for feeling ill and headed up to his room for more in depth contemplation. He didn’t come down for dessert, a rarity in this household, and didn’t show any signs of movement in his bedroom. He didn’t even answer the door when Mila came knocking. 

“Hey,” she cooed, poking her face inside, “you okay, kiddo?” 

“I’m not a kid,” Yuri mumbled. He’d tucked himself in a little ball in the corner of his bed. 

“You okay, big strong man?” She smiled at her own joke but Yuri didn’t stir. She closed the door behind her and sat at the edge of his bed. Her fingers raked through his hair and along his scalp. “You’ve been quiet all week. Did something happen?” He didn’t respond right away.

“Where do you go when you’re not at home or school?” he deflected. Mila shrugged. 

“Usually to the movies, out to eat, JJ’s house. His parents are never around. He’s about to get some exchange students in from Italy, so depending on how cool they are, we’ll spend more or less time there.” Mila didn’t have anything to hide, not from him. “Where do you go?” Yuri shrugged. 

“Church, the library, Victor’s sometimes...” 

“How’s he doing? His garden looks so beautiful!” 

Yuri frowned. “He’s dumb,” he pouted, “he’s got this new friend who’s even dumber.”

“Oh stop, you know he loves you.” Yuri grumped some more just to spite her. “I miss him,” she said, “gotta go back to Sunday mass, for real this time.”

“Really?” Yuri turned over, looking at her face. “That’s when I go.” 

“Duh.” Yuri tried to train his face not to give away his anticipation. It never worked, Mila could see right through it. “What do you say to waking up early next week and getting dressed together like we used to? I’ll pitch in with Sunday school and we’ll go to the library. Make a day of it.” 

“Yeah, yes,” he perked right up, “let’s do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> [YOU BETTER SMASH THAT MOTHER FUCKING LIKE BUTTON AND LEAVE A FUCKING COMMENT DOWN BELOW SUBSCRIBE TO BECOME A BRO TODAY](www.tumblr.com/angstgods)


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